


Hello, Lisa

by crowleyshouseplant (orphan_account)



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Friendship, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-10
Updated: 2012-04-10
Packaged: 2017-11-03 09:38:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,384
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/379982
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/crowleyshouseplant
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In a decidedly hazy and sketchy plot device, Lisa and Castiel meet and eventually become friends.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hello, Lisa

**Author's Note:**

> For Lena

“Don’t tell Dean that I was here,” Castiel says at the end of the first time they meet, bumping into each other on accident at the sidewalk, Lisa’s arms full of groceries and somehow, the gallon of milk doesn’t split and spill itself on the concrete.

“Alright,” Lisa says. And when Dean comes home, wiping his oil slick hands on a ragged piece of plaid shirt that he sticks back in his pocket, and asks her how her days was, she says it was fine and, as he slurps up the spaghetti she made him for lunch, she tucks her fist under chin, and wonders why Dean Winchester never mentioned that he communed with angels, or that one of their names was Castiel.

Ben asks to be told a story, accidentally dropping his knife and it bangs against the plate before skittering across the floor, makes Dean’s eye twitch but then he grins at Ben, tells him something she’s ninety-percent sure he made up, about the first time he went down to Hollywood—

But Ben says, “No. I mean, one of your hunting stories.”

And he looks down at his plate, pushes his apple pie around with his force, splashing the table with bits of cinnamon sauce, and says, “Not today, kid,” and Lisa tells Ben to clean up his dishes so that he won’t plead or ask why not and Dean shoots her a glance with open eyes and a barely open mouth, and she nods at him.

She doesn’t see Castiel for a week before he shows up beside her when she’s doing the tree on her porch as she watches the sun rise. She loses her balance, and her foot lands with a thud, but Castiel just looks at her and says, “Hello, Lisa.”

“Hi, Castiel,” she says.

“I don’t wish to interrupt,” Castiel says, gathering the trench coat around his knees and sitting down on one of the dirty plastic chairs that she and Dean used sometimes in the evening when the mosquitoes weren’t too bad.

“Okay,” she says, resuming her pose, breathing in deep. The air’s a little wet from the morning dew, but it smells good and tastes like honeysuckle. “Why are you here,” she says between breaths.

“I don’t know,” Castiel says. He stands up, puts his hands in his pockets. Lisa can see the clenched knuckles dimpling the fabric.

“You look like you could use a beer,” she says. And he nods curtly, briefly.

She doesn’t expect him to still be there when she returns, but he is. She twists the cap off for him, hands it over, and he swallows deep. “You like?”

He nods. “It tastes like earth. Not like when I drank the liquor store.”

  
“Was it harder stuff?”

He nods, eyes on the lip of the bottle. “Much harder.” He finishes it off, and the bottle disappears from his person.  “Thank you, for sharing your drink with me.”

“Feel free to stop by, when you can,” Lisa says but there’s nothing but a whisper of wind and an empty chair. She raises her bottle, says, “Stay safe, Castiel,” and swallows it down.

It’s not really a prayer, she thinks. Just a wish and a hope. And she smiles into her beer because angels were like them—no halos to tear down, no wings to muss up.

Castiel comes, sometimes. One day, when it’s cold and rainy, she gives him some hot chocolate, and he watches the marshmallows melt as he says, “I’ve slain ten of my brethren since yesterday.”

And she covers his hand with her palm, squeezes his fingers, and doesn’t say anything because what could be said? Silence was better than a wrong, fumbling word. He leaves without tasting the hot chocolate, and she cleans the cup, puts it away, doesn’t say anything when Dean uses it for coffee later.

Dean takes Ben fishing, and Lisa doesn’t bother getting dressed. Stuffs her feet in fluffy slippers, doesn’t change out of her tank top or flannel pants, pops popcorn and pours sugar and caramel over it instead of butter and salt. Balances the bowl on her stomach as she sprawls across the whole couch and puts on the sci-fi channel.

“Hello, Lisa,” Castiel says, and she cranes her neck, sees him watching the television with her, the downward flick of his eyes as they meet.

“I thought I’d Arthur-Dent it today,” Lisa says, yawning.

“I don’t understand that reference.”

“A man in his jim-jams wakes up to his house about to be demolished but then the earth is about to be demolished and then they hitchhike their way across the universe,” Lisa says. “The way that that Douglas Adams uses his words is basically porn though. Definitely worth a read if you have the time or interest.”

“Pornography?”

“A pornography of words, syllables doing naughty things in your mouth and tasting oh so good.” Lisa smiles at Castiel, then pulls her legs to chest. “Sit if you like,” she says. And Castiel does and she moves to put her feet in his lap, but pauses. “This okay?”

Castiel looks at her feet, hovering inches above his lap, then looks at her face, then at the space between them. “It is,” Castiel says. She lets her feet drop, and his coat is cold and soft and worn, and she buries her toes into the folds to stave off the chill.

They watch television together until Castiel says, “I made a deal today.”

“Was it a good deal?”  
  


“I don’t know.” Castiel folds his hands over Lisa’s ankles, his thumbs encircling her delicate bones.  “It was necessary. Unholy alliances can sometimes save the world.” He lifts his head, chin high, neck a tower of David. “It did before.”

“You mean,” and Lisa licks her lips, “with Dean and Sam?”

“The boy with the demon blood. The righteous man who broke the first seal. A poor excuse of an angel.” He spreads his hands against her legs. “We told a different story with a better ending. We can do it again.” He looks at her again. “We don’t have to be what people say we are.”

“Do you trust the person you made the deal with?” Lisa says.

“No,” Castiel says, no hesitation.

“That doesn’t sound like a recipe for success,” Lisa says. She pushes at his thigh with her heel, gently.

He bows his head, swallows. “Until God answers my prayers,” he says, very very softly, “I will do what I must.”

Then he is gone, and her feet whump into the pillows, ankle bones knocking against each other, and Lisa says, “You don’t have to do this alone,” into the empty spaces.

When Castiel drops by, one last time, he uses the doorbell for the first time. And she almost laughs, but she fights it down, just smiling at him as she says, “Hello and good morning.”

“May I come in?” he says.

“Yeah—yeah, you can.”  She smiles at him, but he doesn’t see her. She touches the tips of his fingers with hers. “Castiel—are you okay?”

“I don’t know,” Castiel says. His head is bent, the cuffs of his coat dirty and bent and Lisa doesn’t look too close.

“Hey. Can I hug you? Is that a thing that I can do for you?”

“Why?” Castiel says.

“Because if you want one—you can have one from me.”

“Alright,” he says. So she steps up to him, stands on her tiptoes, puts one arm around his neck, the other around his waist, and pulls him in close, squeezes him soft, hands splayed wide against his back, so that he can feel all of her. She doesn’t let go.

He’s stiff at first, but she rests her forehead against his shoulder, smells wind and earth on his coat.

Then his arms wrap around her, and he doesn’t hold her like she holds him—not as tight, not as hard—but he rests his cheek against her hair for a brief moment before tugging away from her. “That was unexpected,” he says.

“But was it nice?”

“Yes.” He looks at her, smiles so fast she almost misses it. “Thank you, Lisa Braeden.” And then he vanishes from her living room.

She doesn’t see him, after that, for a very long time.


End file.
